Quest for Peace
by ptarn
Summary: Join old and new heroes in their personal quests for peace and see how their worlds collide. Meet mythical elders, hate-filled brothers, demons bearing grudges and unlikely allies. Some battle evil, others embrace it. All will change. For better or worse.
1. Enemies? I

**Enemies?**

Adarra Redhoof stood in Camp Narache and as she looked around her, her eyes expressed a deep sadness. The strong morning breeze swept past her, carrying with it the promise of a hot summer. However, that was not all she smelled. After two weeks the faint scent of drying blood still clung to her nostrils. She leaned on the magical staff that she had found a few weeks ago while battling fel orcs in the Hellfire Citadel. It had served her well ever since, but now, when she looked at it, touched it, she felt a coldness in her heart ever more often. And the memories that came along with it… They plagued her in her darkest nightmares. _All this killing… how it sickens me now. The needless deaths, the fathers who'll never return to see their children grow up, the young men or women who'll never know the joy of raising children, the grandparents who'll outlive even their youngest grandchildren… It sickens me to the bone._

About fourteen days ago Adarra would not have felt this way. She'd have rejoiced in her victory and would have been proud of the fact that she had single-handedly defeated two humans, a draenei and a night elf. The blood spatter on her clothes would have been left there for days on end, showing every Horde member around her how good she was, how _honorable_. Brash young taurens would have invited her to their parties, so she could tell about her spectacular fight and how cowardly those Alliance worms were. Messages from respected druid trainers would have been sent to her from all over Azeroth, asking her to come train with them. And she would have shared her story with her closest friends by re-enacting it in front of the fireplace in the inn at the Barrens, while Boorand, the innkeeper, would keep nosy spectators from entering. Adarra would have done all that and maybe more... If it weren't for something that had happened between then and now.

Now she was a different tauren. Even though she'd always been different, a doubter in the midst of true believers who thought they had it all figured out. Ever since her earliest childhood she had been raised by her father and the other villagers at Camp Narache to hate the Alliance and all that it stood for. According to them, the only good human, dwarf, gnome, draenei or nelf was a dead one. _Don't trust the Alliance, _was all she ever heard, _don't respect them, don't bargain with them, don't listen to them, just kill them all and do it quickly. And then celebrate!_

Her mother provided a different view on things altogether and it was that view that had already changed Adarra when she was young. Because of her mother, she never fought unless provoked and she never killed unless she ran out of other options. Her mother once stated that all Alliance races were stupid, couldn't think for themselves. _But that in itself is no reason to kill them,_ she said. _They deserve our pity, just because they don't know any better. It was just that, well, they don't deserve to share this world with the tauren..._

* * *

"... Except maybe the night elf druids," her mother had told her one morning while cooking porridge. It was five days after Adarra had chosen to start down the path towards becoming a druid on her twelfth birthday. Her memories of that day remained vivid, even after all those years. She remembered her mother telling her something that would slowly change her outlook on life… Culminating in the events two weeks ago, when she had killed – no, _murdered_ – four people for no other reason than them crossing her path.

"They understand how important our bond with nature is, how every living thing should be at peace with the living world around it. How we all should respect the Earth Mother who gave us life and can just as easily take it away again."

Sira smiled at her daughter, prouder than ever that Adarra would follow in her footsteps. At that moment Adarra was very glad that she had a younger brother, Norro, who would almost certainly become a shaman. Their father had secretly hoped that both his children would choose to study his class, but he was still very happy with only his son becoming a 'master of the elements' as he liked to call it.

"But aren't all _nelfs_ bad, mom?" Adarra asked, surprised by her mother's comment. "Aren't they, you know… stupid? Just like humans and gnomes and dwarves and draenei?"

The unexpected slap of a wooden spoon on her right hand made Adarra yelp in pain.

"I won't have you using that word again, young lady! It's bad enough your father uses that word without me being able to stop him, but my children will not say it!"

The harsh look on her mom's face scared Adarra and she nodded, with tears in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, mom," she whispered, "I won't use that word again."

Suddenly her mom's face softened. She got down on her knees and looked at her daughter.

"Oh, my darling little cowgirl… come here."

Adarra threw herself in her mother's waiting arms and sobbed, while Sira hugged her.

"Don't cry, my sweet. It's alright. It's just that I get upset every time someone uses that horrible, _degrading_ name when speaking about night elves. They're different, but that doesn't mean they're bad or stupid. They just… don't know any better, that's all. And it's our job to educate them, to show them the ways of the tauren, of the Earth Mother. Dear child of mine," Sira's voice became hardly more than a whisper, "I even think that allying ourselves with the Horde was a… a _hasty_ decision. Sure enough, the orcs and trolls also share our beliefs about nature, but mainly, they want to _fight_. Especially the orcs. Their thirst for revenge against the Legion and their allies is unrivalled, and sometimes it gets the better of them... They forget what they're fighting for when their blood rage takes over, a reminder of how they came to be on our world. They deserve our pity, but I'll tell you their sorrowful tale another time. The trolls are… well, they're a bit strange in the head. Every troll has a… a fluke, for want of a better word. Most of them have small flukes, funny flukes, so people regard trolls as fighting jokesters. But some trolls… are just plain crazy. Stay away from those! I could tell you tales, dear daughter, which would make the hair on your body stand on end. That would wake you in the middle of the night, sweating and screaming. Still, most orcs and trolls care about nature, even if it's only so they can hunt in the woods or grasslands. The undead, however… the undead are another tale entirely."

During Sira's speech Adarra had quieted down and was listening to her mother's tale with an almost fierce intent. Somehow, the fact that her mother doubted the things she had been taught from the very beginning of her life, touched her. It touched something _inside_ her, some secret, deeply buried doubt, which she hadn't even been aware of until this moment.

Sira studied her daughter's face, looking for something. Adarra could feel how her mother attuned herself to the living world around her, felt the air that they both breathed, felt the energies of everyone and everything around them. A cautious smile appeared on her mother's face after a minute. _What does she see_? Her mother stood up and led Adarra to the kitchen table.

"Sit here. I'll finish the porridge and we'll eat it together. In silence. When we're done, I'll tell you more."

They did exactly as her mother said. Adarra and Sira ate their meal in silence, a comfortable silence that didn't scream to be broken by awkward words. After they'd finished breakfast, Adarra cleared the table and her mother cleaned the dishes.

"I'll make us some tea. Go to the living room and grab the sweetgrass cookies."

Adarra looked at her mom with raised eyebrows and a questioning look on her face. _Did I actually hear her say that_? The 'secret stash of sweetgrass cookies' only got out of its hiding place on very special occasions, since sweetgrass was very hard to get.

"Don't look so surprised, little cowgirl. We're gonna have a serious talk together, but talking is so much better with some tea and sweetgrass cookies. I always think it makes the mind work better and the ears hear well. Go on, don't stand there gawping at me like a stupid gnoll, get them!"

Sira didn't have to say that twice. Her daughter bounded happily into the living room and went straight for the 'secret hiding place'. _I have to think of a better place to put those,_ Sira thought, as she did every time she saw one of her children go directly to the new hiding place. It was an everlasting, cheerful game she played with both her children and she wanted to hold on to it for as long as she could. _Their world will be real and hard enough when they grow up._

With tea and cookies on the old wooden table, which had been in the Redhoof-family for generations, Adarra and Sira sat down on the wicker couch. Adarra grabbed one of the bear fur cushions and held it tight as she pulled her legs up under her and faced her mother. Sira also laid her legs on the couch and reclined. She looked at her daughter and marveled at Adarra's cream-colored fur and light brown spots. _I wonder which of our ancient forefathers gave those to her._

"Little cowgirl… my dear daughter… Adarra. What I'm about to tell you is not something that I share lightly. It is something I haven't told anyone about since greatfather Redhoof died. You must promise me to keep it to yourself, to not even tell it to your brother. And please, my sweet, don't _ever_ tell it to your father. He just… he… well, he just wouldn't understand. Promise me, dear. Promise me with all your heart that this will be our secret. At least, until you've grown up and can take care of yourself."

Never before had Adarra heard her mother speak to her with such seriousness. Never before had her mother confided in her this much. For a moment, Adarra hesitated. _Can I make such a promise? Can I keep a secret from both Norro and dad?_ She furrowed her brow in thought. This was not something to be promised on a whim. She realized something bigger was at stake here, but what that was, she couldn't even begin to guess. Suddenly, Adarra felt she _had_ to make the promise. She had to make her mother tell this secret. She _wanted_ to know.

"Mom… I promise. I promise I won't tell Norro, or father. I promise I won't tell anyone. But I can't promise I won't ever tell my future husband when I'm grown up and bonded. Is that good enough for you?"

A big smile appeared on her mother's face. _That's my girl!_

"Yes, that's enough. For now at least. I didn't expect you to even think about that, but for now, it's enough."

Sira took two cookies from the wooden box and gave one to her daughter. When she had finished it, she took her mug of tea and held it with both hands. She took a deep breath and began her story.

"As you know, the undead weren't always what they are today. Thanks to Lady Sylvanas they were able to sever themselves from the Scourge and live as a free people, calling themselves the Forsaken. Forsaken... a truer name was never chosen. One day, when you meet Lady Sylvanas, you'll know what I mean. Just listen to her song, her lament, and you'll understand. But that's not what I want to talk about today. I want to talk about how this all came to be, the _real_ story. You see, what only a handful of people on this world know, be it either from the Alliance or the Horde, is that there's more to that story than is commonly known. Let me tell you about King Arthas and his final, unspeakable act of betrayal to his father and all of humankind…"


	2. Enemies? II

Suddenly Adarra's trip down memory lane shifted to more recent events. In the back of her mind she could hear a soft moaning and even though she didn't want to relive that day, the memories would not be pushed away. The moaning grew louder and took her mind's eye to a road in Desolace, where she had been looking for Gromsblood.

She had been the family's designated herbalist since her mother had gotten hoofrot and helped them get their herbs the cheap way. They simply couldn't afford a bid at the Thunder Bluff Auction House, let alone travel to one of the many vendors that all sold different types of herbs. So when her brother Norro, who was quite an accomplished shaman nowadays, had come to her asking for Gromsblood, Adarra had gladly volunteered to travel to Desolace.

"It will give me an opportunity to gather some Stranglekelp so you can make me some more of those potions that guard against being stunned or slowed. Even though I rely on my skills, I might run into a situation someday when I might get attacked by a shrewd Alliance member."

Norro smirked when he handed over her herb pouch.

"Alliance members shrewd... Heh, that would be the day! Don't you worry, little sis, you can hold your own, I'm sure of it. Now off you go, before our dear parents hear about your trip and start demanding that you get them some herbs too. And then, before you know it, you'd be on an epic herb-gathering journey around the world!"

So she'd grabbed her bags, picked up her staff and had set off for Desolace. When Adarra had arrived in Shadowprey Village, she immediately started to feel the dreary province's atmosphere draining away her spirit. Desolace, like it's name implied, was a desolate and barren place that always made taurens feel uncomfortable, especially when they came near the big Kodo Graveyard. As a druid, Adarra was even more affected than her kin. Sometimes she would even hear the faint death cries of the mighty kodo's. It wasn't the dying in itself that made it bad, because most of the kodo's had lived a rich and long life, giving birth to many calves or leading a herd for many years. Those kodo's let go of everything with a contented last cry, knowing that their hardships had come to a peaceful end. _No, it's the sick ones, the hurt ones, that give the Graveyard its soul-consuming dread._ Every time she visited Desolace, Adarra couldn't help but think about how it came to be that way.

More than twenty years ago everything had been as it should be. When a sick kodo came to die, it felt relief at being granted a way out of its misery. But then more and more kodo's were afflicted by something else, something that ate away their mind, their soul, and death wasn't a release at all. This strange sickness had started spreading throughout Kalimdor. It had become so bad, that in the last years there had even been rumors that some of the domesticated kodo mounts had fallen to the same disease. When such an afflicted kodo died, nothing remained… Nothing except hate and despair. Emotions as strong as those didn't dissipate, they lingered. And when enough hate or despair gathered in one place, that place itself began to change. That's what had been happening to Desolace.

And if that hadn't been enough, most of those carcasses housed remnants. Pieces of soul that clung to life after death out of spite, of misery, regardless of the disease's destructive work. As long as the physical body remained, this remnant was bound to it. It simmered there for months or even years while the carrion eaters did their work. They weren't affected by the disease, because it only affected the metaphysical, or, in other words, the mind. When the last pieces of the prison that held it bound were devoured, the remnant escaped. It started searching for something, something alive, something powerful, something willing to receive it… Not just anything would do. Animals weren't intelligent enough for its goal and normal people, people without much magic, wouldn't do either. No, such a remnant would want someone powerful, young and most of all willing. Unfortunately, as Adarra knew, there had always been and still are more than enough people, of all races and beliefs, who fit the description. And when a remnant found such a person, it would bond with them and start to create something terrible. The form would vary, but the outcome always remained the same: over time, a new and powerful member of the Burning Legion would be born, ready for his or her final trial, when all remaining goodness and humanity in his or her soul will be destroyed.

And then of course there had been the hurt kodo's. Not just hurt... tortured. Viciously attacked and left to die after someone had cut off their horns. Or brutally wounded for the fun of it. One of the elders at Camp Narache had even come across the mutilated bodies of more than a dozen young kodo's, barely out of their mother's womb. It had taken the adult populace of Adarra's village quite some time not only to gather and burn the remains, but also to heal the patch of earth on which the atrocities had taken place. Such pain, such hurt, left an imprint on one's soul, animal and human alike. When kodo's carrying such wounds died, their pain left an imprint, a spiritual echo. In places such as the spot on the Golden Plains, where the new-born kodo's were killed, there were enough skilled magic users nearby to swiftly cleanse the place and put the spirits to rest. But in the Kodo Graveyard this process had been going on for many years before someone noticed it.

By then it had been too late. Even though Cairne Bloodhoof, high chieftan of the taurens, had quickly gathered all tauren druids and shamans in Desolace to try and erase the taint, it had resisted all their efforts with ease. So Cairne went to Thrall, who had been leader of the Horde for almost ten years, to discuss this unsettling problem. They had decided to combine their forces and sent every druid and shaman, be it tauren, orc or troll, to help. Unfortunately this second try had failed too. After much deliberation the two great warriors had convened with Sylvanas, Banshee Queen of the Forsaken, and did two things. First, they had dispatched messengers to Moonglade to enlist the aid of the night elf druids. Second, they had formed a group of highly skilled magic users that consisted of druids, shamans, mages and warlocks, to research the phenomenon.

The night elf druids had answered the call of their tauren brethren and set off for Desolace immediately. When every adult shaman and druid known to Azeroth had arrived at the Kodo Graveyard, several years had already passed since the second try to heal the ever growing taint. And it had grown. It had expanded so fast that only a small piece of land along the west coast, stretching above and below Shadowprey Village, was fairly untouched. The wildlife however had become increasingly dangerous. Even the weather above Desolace had changed over time. Dark clouds cast their lightning and poured their rain on the brave ones that stood ready to defy evil. But on that night every man, woman and even child that possessed an affinity with nature, with the Earth Mother or with the spirits stood at the edge of the Kodo Graveyard, ready to fight for their world.


	3. Into the past: Night of Pain, I

**Into the past: Night of Pain**

Cairne, Thrall and Sylvanas stood on a ridge looking out over their united people at the place that in Adarra's time would be known as Ghost Walker Post. All day everyone had been preparing for the task at hand by meditating, casting spells, brewing potions and contacting their spiritual allies. Night elf druids and tauren druids alike could feel the Earth Mother watching and guiding them. Shamans called forth the spirits of the elements to imbue their totems with even more raw elemental power. Mages provided everyone with enough food and water to stay in perfect shape and warlocks used their enslaved demon pets to scout for demonic activity and unwanted magical observers, because such a massive congregation of magic users would not go unnoticed for long.

By dusk everyone was done preparing and all charged up for the grand task at hand. Thrall descended to the Kodo Graveyard and dropped four totems, one for each element, around the whole group. Then he walked up to his fellow leaders again.

"Well, this is it. There's not much more we can do in preparing for this," he grunted.

"I agree, my dear Warchief," Sylvanas added. "The outcome of this major undertaking lies in the hands of the Eternals that watch over us now, as much as I hate to admit it. We Forsaken like to take things into our own hands."

"As we have seen," rumbled the voice of Cairne from behind them. "But now is not the time to dwell on past choices or on future mistakes. The Earth Mother sings to us, the spirits speak to us and..."

"... And Elune blesses you for your decision to try and stop this," a voice spoke up behind the trio.

Only Sylvanas startled and looked around. Thrall and Cairne merely grinned.

"It sure took Cenarius long enough to respond, Remulos. Welcome to this joined effort, young one."

"Young one? Warchief Thrall, you do not need to remind me of my status as 'youngest child' of the great Cenarius, I have two older brothers who do that all the time!"

"I think my friend wasn't referring to you being the youngest brother, Keeper," Cairne said with a faint smile.

"He didn't? I... oh, wait... What? Well, I've never-!"

"I'm really dreadfully sorry to break up this little 'all boys' get-together, but don't we have a job to do here? You know... like getting rid of a dangerous threat that has firmly entrenched itself upon our world?"

The banshee queen gave the three men a wicked grin when she said this.

"On the other hand, I don't think the Forsaken will suffer much when this fails. We'll find a way to make due with the... ah... raw materials that will be left behind."

"Sylvanas, for a woman, even an undead one, you can be very unpleasant to deal with. However, you're right. As you are most of the time."

Thrall conceded the point almost thoughtlessly, while Remulos pulled a disgusted face and Cairne only inclined his head a little, as if to say he didn't agree nor disagree with the orc Warchief.

"It is time, then," the mighty tauren chieftan said. "The spirits are restless, they know what's about to happen. Let's give the signal to start this undertaking. Lady Sylvanas, if you would be so kind as to signal to your troops to move away? Their magic could be counterproductive for what we are trying to achieve here."

"Of course, Cairne."

The leader of the Forsaken raised her right hand above her head, placed her other hand on her chest and closed her eyes. Soon faint, blue light surrounded her raised hand. In a matter of seconds it turned bright white.

"You'd better close your eyes, boys."

A blinding flash lit up their surroundings. As one the gathered Forsaken abandoned their posts and pulled back from what would soon become a battleground. They took up places on the ridges surrounding the graveyard, prepared to help out wherever necessary. Every available priest had taken up a strategic position between the outer rim of Forsaken and the inner ring of shamans and druids, so each group of combatants could count on at least two people healing them. Then, as if guided by an unspoken command, everyone turned to the four leaders overlooking them. Friend and foe alike stood silent, side by side.

"Well, we're as ready for this as we'll ever be," Remulos said softly.

"It's like trying to find a thread of runecloth in a haystack with a torch," Thrall admitted. "We have no idea what we're dealing with. But we have to try. The spirits guided us thus far, even though they couldn't provide us with any answers concerning this… this mockery of nature. This disgusting stain on our world! These souls, or remnants, are unlike anything that has ever existed here. But still we have to try. And we will succeed!"

Cairne stood next to Thrall and laid his hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Words spoken in the heat of battle are lost in that heat. Words spoken after battle only remain when spoken by the winning side. Words spoken before a battle are the trickiest. When won, they will be remembered. When lost, they can be lost too. Unless the loss itself is to be remembered. I wonder if your words will remain, Warchief. Only time will tell."

"After these eloquent words, shall we get on with the task at hand? Or is that too much for your living brains to handle?"

"Sylvanas, sometimes your tongue is too sharp for its own good… But you're right nonetheless."

Thrall sighed. "Again. Let's begin."

He gestured with his hands and his four totems began to glow. As one, every shaman did the same. The darkness was shattered by hundreds of totems, lighting up and giving their summoners the power to contact the spirits and the elements. At the same moment every druid called upon the Earth Mother to grant them power and they focused on the earth around them. Suddenly thunderous gusts started battering those gathered at the site. Immediately some of the shamans responded by calling forth air elementals to protect everyone from the forces that were clearly trying to keep the cleansing rituals from taking place. Slowly but surely a dome of whirling wind was erected around the Graveyard. Cairne used the same technique for him and his companions, since they were too far off for the other elementals to protect them too.

"A promising beginning," Cairne said, his voice straining to rise above the noise, "not what I had expected, but promising nonetheless. Now we have confirmation, without a doubt, that an intelligent force is behind this… horror. And I think we can make a fair guess as to who that would be…"

Beside him, Thrall only nodded. Words weren't necessary at this point. Knowing whether or not the Burning Legion had something to do with this wouldn't affect the outcome. Only the skills of his people, and he considered even the Forsaken his people, who would work in unison with the Night Elf druids, who Thrall considered misguided but honorable, would be of any use in this massive undertaking. He could feel the agony of the summoned air elementals, felt their pain as they were being assaulted by powerful, dark magic. Some of them simply vanished, ceased to exist, to be replaced with others as quickly as possible. But they didn't relent, they didn't back down. The War Chief was certain that they knew what was at stake here and they were willing to sacrifice themselves to protect their summoners.

"You don't have to be made of flesh and bone to be a true hero," he spoke ever so softly to the air surrounding him.

Almost at that same moment the two airdomes seemed to become more solid. Thrall smiled. Whatever the outcome would be today, old bonds were strengthened once more. They were ready.

"It is time to fight!" the Warchief cried out.

"Shamans, let the spirits of earth cast out any remaining remnants! Let the spirits of fire burn every carcass to ashes! Let the water and air elemenals purify their elements! Druids, cleanse the earth. Help her heal! Warlocks, it's time to make our adversaries visible. Attack them at once! And mages…. Kill everything that's not us!"


	4. Into the past: Night of Pain, II

Before the echoes of his words had dissipated, the entire area rumbled. For a few short moments Thrall, Cairne and Remulos could actually feel the taint diminishing, retreating before the utter onslaught of raw power being unleashed upon it. At the same time the warlocks ripped aside the fabric of reality to uncover the unseen enemy. Mages stood by their sides, ready to attack anything they would encounter. They were not prepared for what waited for them.

In the first minutes of the ensuing battle it was a true pandemonium. Demon minions were squashed like beetles. Mages and warlocks were putting up one hell of a fight, but they were massacred. In the unlikely event that a few mages were able to call forth some feeble rains of fire or blizzards, they were immediately targeted by their opponents and simply crushed by what could only be called thunderstorms of fire. Sylvanas had already joined their forces and was holding her ground with a small group of mages and one warlock. Then the shamans and druids joined the fight, led by Thrall and Cairne.

Roots burst out of the ground, holding Doomguards, Wrathguards and Succibi in place. Treants materialized all around the battlefield, while swarms of insects harassed every demon in sight. Both starfire and moonfire pounded on the six Dreadlords and two Pit Lords that had appeared. Hurricanes incapacited opponents, buying combatants precious time to either heal up, refresh their mana pool or be healed. Priests were exerting themselves to keep up with their falling comrades and received help occasionaly when a druid would cast tranquility or a shaman would cast a healing wave. As the tide of battle turned, the mages and warlocks recovered from the initial shock. Blizzards and firestorms rages across the members of the Burning Legion, while the lesser demons were being enslaved and turned against their former adversaries.

In the mean time Remulos had stood perfectly still. To a casual observer it might've looked as if he wasn't doing anything, but he was. Oh yes, he was definitely doing something. For the second time, the earth rumbled. Dryads and ancients broke through the surface and swarmed out between the fighting armies. Remulos himself entered the fray, kicking, casting and healing wherever needed. Even though it was not the taint that was being fought, everyone felt they were overcoming the evil that had haunted this place for so long. Until the portals started opening everywhere and towering shadows stepped through.

"Man'ari, man'ari…"

"It's the corrupted ones!"

"Commanders, they've sent commanders…"

"Man'ari! They're here!"

Suddenly and irrevocably the tide of battle turned again. With the mere flick of a hand three of the Man'ari Eredar, mightiest members of the Burning Legion, freed every enslaved demon and either killed or subverted almost every warlock. Two other Man'ari called down huge Infernals that crushed or wounded a lot of fighters and starting wreaking havoc afterwards. The last Man'ari, the biggest of all, turned his attention to Thrall.

**"Thanks to you my task has been made infinitely more easy, orc. I had only expected you to come, but this is so much better. Now I can not only destroy the mighty leader of the Horde, but also his most trusted friend, the son of a demi-god and the best prize of all… The illusive leader of that troublesome band of renegade Scourge. Kil'jaeden will be pleased!"**

An unearthly wail pierced the night, freezing friend and foe in place, and a brilliant white beam of light pierced the heart of a Man'ari behind the one that had been speaking to Thrall.

"We will never be slaves again and we will not die!" Sylvanas screamed. "We won't serve the Lich King ever again!"

The Banshee Queen's wails paralyzed most of the lesser demons, inspiring her Forsaken to fight with redoubled effort. While the remaining Man'ari focused their efforts on the unexpected resistance, Thrall looked at the one standing before him.

"Demon, I don't know who you are or what's going here, but we will not back down!"

He turned to Cairne and said: "Call on your most powerful allies and aid Sylvanas wherever you can. Remulos," he shouted to his other friend, "let the ancients focus on the Pit Lords and the Dreadlords. They must be taken down as soon as possible! And you," he turned back to the large demon, "you are MINE!"

Around the Warchief four of his strongest elementals appeared, representing the four elements.

"Combine your forces, spirits, hit him with everything you've got!"

The evil eredar was engulfed immediately in swirls of water, wind, fire and earth, but he fought back by summoning monstrous winds that pummeled Thrall from all sides. Two infernals fell from the sky and attacked him, so Thrall imbued his mace with rockbiter and defended himself. While he smashed his opponents into a lifeless pile of rocks, the Man'ari he had been fighting got rid of his elementals one by one. The demon had corrupted the fire as soon as it touched him and now he turned it against his former brethren. A blazing shield of flames erupted from his body and took care of the other elementals in a matter of seconds. As Thrall killed the second Infernal, the Man'ari stepped forward and kicked Thrall against the foot of the ridge he had stood on only minutes before.

"Ugh!"

With the wind knocked out of him, Thrall tried to stand up only to feel that his right leg was broken. His spirit allies were gone, his totems crushed and the Man'ari towering over him, he was sure this would be his end.

**"Did you really think you could defeat a commander of the Legion this easily? Did you really think you could slay me, leader among leaders? I am Thalgath, first among the the Man'ari, and you will not stop us. We will kill every last one of your people here and I shall enjoy crushing you beneath my own hoof!"**

Thalgath's grin was terrifying to see, but Thrall didn't avert his eyes. Like the warrior he was, he faced his impending death without fear. Slowly Talgath raised his left hoof.

"FOR THE HORDE!"

From the ridge above Cairne jumped on Talgath, his eyes and his hammer blazing with fury. The first blow to his face made Talgath stagger backwards, away from Thrall. The demon tried to cast a spell or grab Cairne, but a flurry of blows to his head made him cry out and loose balance. The earth shook when Talgath hit the earth, screaming and cursing while blood streamed from his broken eyes.

"Warchief, take my hand," a young warlock said, "we'll get you out of here."

"But the battle… the cleansing! It must continue!"

"It's lost, Warchief, we cannot hold our ground. Lady Sylvanas helped us to organize our defenses, but only to retreat in as orderly a fashion as possible. The ancients and the dryads have almost no defense against the demons' fire and although the mages inflict a lot of damage, they are too fragile to withstand more than three or four direct hits from either spells or weapons. And we… our loyal servants are turned against us and since the Man'ari came, our fel magics have been mostly useless. The shamans and the druids are the only ones that have a fighting chance, but there's just too many to fight. Chieftan Cairne sent me to get you out of here, so please, Warchief… take me hand. My friends and I will create a portal to get you out of here."

"No."

"But, but… Warchief, High Chieftan Cairne said-"

"I heard what Cairne said and I know why he said it, but I won't leave before I know that we've saved as many people as possible! I am the Warchief, I have an obligation to my people!"


	5. Into the past: Night of Pain, III

"Warchief, I… I'll do as you command. Auken, get your felguard over here and help him get up! Don't worry, Warchief, we'll get you up this ridge so you can see everything. Auken, where's your felguard? Vozhun, come here and help me. And don't talk back or I'll keep you on this plane of existence for the next two weeks!"

The felguards walked up to Thrall and helped him stand up. Vozhun supported him while they walked away, while the other felguard carried Thrall's mace.

"Larissa, contact Udor and have him heal the Warchief. And have your mages create a diversion, I don't care how they do it!"

The warlock shouted orders like a professional and despite his predicament, Thrall couldn't supress a grin. If they got out of this, he would think of a way to thank her, even though Thrall had never fully trusted the users of fel magic before. Maybe it was about time to rethink some of those old prejudices.

"What's your master's name, Vozhun?"

**"She's called Harukhana, Warchief."**

"Thank you, Vozhun."

**"You… You're welcome, Warchief."**

Soon they reached the top of the ridge and positioned Thrall so he could overlook the battlefield.

"By the gods…" was all he could say.

It was a massacre. The airdome had collapsed completely, exposing everyone to the harsh winds. Where before they only had to fight the demons, now they had to seek shelter and do battle.

"Udor, deal with the Warchief's wounds. Larissa, get those damned mages organized so they can portal everyone out of here. Auken, take your felguard and round up the remaining druids and shamans. Mount an attack on those two Pit Lords, keep them occupied. Vozhun… Vozhun, try and find Remulos. He has to keep using the ancients to keep the Dreadlords off Auken and his allies. And… be careful, okay?"

**"Yes, master."**

Vozhun let go of Thrall gently and handed him his mace. When the demon turned to leave, Thrall put a hand on his shoulder and said: "Good luck, felguard. And do as your master commands: be careful."

**"I… I will, Warchief."**

Again Thrall was forced to think about something he had never given any thought to before: warlock-controlled demons could have personalities and seemed to be more than just mindless slaves. But more pressing matters required his attention, so he shifted his gaze to what could no longer be called an evenly matched battleground. His forces were loosing and they were loosing quickly. He could see Harukhana's orders reaching the remaining people, because their actions immediately become more coherent, less panicky. More than once during the instigated retreat either Udor or Harukhana would try to plead with him, to get him away from this lost battle.

Harukhana was the one thing Thrall enjoyed watching. She didn't just issue orders, she fought alongside those following her orders when needed. Like a maddened beast she would ruthlessly attack opponents that could even give the best warriors are run for their money, the next moment she hold the hand of a fallen fighter, either trying her best to stabilize him until help came or holding the hand of one who was beyong help, never leaving before the final breath had left the body. It brought tears of joy, anger and sadness to Thrall's eyes.

Suddenly it was over. Cairne, Sylvanas and Remulos had joined him only moments before and with Cairne's hand on his shoulder, Thrall watched as the fight dwindled and stopped. Both sides had retreated, one triumphant, one beaten. Even though the four leaders could see the still bodies of many demons, among them the two Dreadlords, one Pit Lord and even a Man'ari, an appaling majority of bodies clearly belonged to members of the Horde. A piece of Thrall's soul died that day, along with every one of those dead people.

After a while of silence, if you could call it dead when hearing the heart-breaking cries, moans and sobs of the wounded and the dying, Harukhana joined the small group, followed by Vozhun, Larissa and Auken.

"Warchief, we are the only ones left," she announced softly, her voice drained of emotion, "it is time to leave this place."

Larissa had already created a portal to Orgrimmar and faint sounds of normal life drifted through, an eerie reminder of the eternal saying that life goes on. Except it didn't and for the dead it never would again. Cairne squeezed his friend's shoulder, encouraging him to step through. When the Warchief of the Horde finally straightened his back, he couldn't think of anything to say. What use were mere words in the face of utter destruction, of such a careless annihilation of life?

"Yes," he sighed, more tired than he had ever felt before, "it's time to go… home."

The ominous pause before Thrall spoke that last word was noticed by all, but spoken of by none. Instead they all turned to the portal and Remulos went through first. Just as Thrall wanted to step through, a beautiful voice rose up in song. He recognized it. Sylvanas was singing the Lament of the Highborne. She was saying her farewell to all the fearless fighters who fell in this horrendous battle. Thrall's heart ached when the full force of her sadness hit him again, like it always did when he heard the Banshee Queen's song. He could only hope that the restless spirits would hear it too and find their way home, away from this wretched place.


	6. Into the past: Night of Pain, IV

It was almost too much to bear and without hesitating, he stepped through. For one blissful moment Thrall experienced oblivion, like everyone does who enters a mage portal. And for one infinitesimal moment he felt a pull, a promise, a way to forget. Even though it took him an eternity to decide, the decision wasn't hard at all.

As he stepped back into the world he knew, in the warm sunlight and surrounded by the sounds of life, Thrall realized that every time he would use a portal he would feel that pull again. And every time he would make the right decision again.

"Throm-ka, Warchief," Nazgrel said, before turning his attention to the surrounding soldiers, "and pay attention, grunts! Stand in line! Your Warchief has returned!"

"Dabu, Nazgrel!"

"Gol, Haith, stand ready to collapse the portal as soon as the others have stepped through, we don't want any demonic filth following them here, understood?"

"Ya, boss-mon, we be ready to collapsa da portal."

"Good. Girta, order some of those good-for-nothing idiots you threw in the brig yesterday to bring some food to the Warchief and his guests. But don't let Thrum near the food, I don't trust that piece of boar dung!"

"Yes, Nazgrel. You heard the man, get those fools over here right now and make sure…"

Girta's voice trailed off as Nazgrel led Thrall away from the portal.

"Warchief, I know you've just returned from the battlefield, but I have to ask you: how in Grom's name are we gonna sell this slaughter to the families? Even in our blackest nightmares we didn't foresee this horrible outcome, but we have to deal with it, one way or another."

"Nazgrel, I… It was beyond horrible. I've survived hardships that would've killed others, I've helped free our people from slavery, but this… I can't… I don't know, my friend. I… I don't know. I have to rest, have to clear my head, I have to… have to… ungh…"

Thrall's knees gave way and he felt very light-headed. Nazgrel tried to support him, but his body wouldn't listen to him anymore.

"Warchief? Warchief! By the gods, you stubborn son of a… You're bleeding all over the place! You, get a healer, NOW! Warchief? Thrall, stay awake, help's coming. For the love of all that's sacred, don't you dare die on your people now! Don't you go dying on me! Thrall? Thrall! Stay awake… stay awake…"


	7. Battles

**A battle won?**

Cairne had chosen to be honest about what really happened in the Night of Pain, so Adarra knew all about that failed undertaking. However, both Thrall and Remulos had decided to stay silent and create an elaborate tale about how all those faithful fighters had ended up dead in a short period of time. Sylvanas and her surviving people had been almost painfully honest about it upon their return, but their take on life and death was beyond the understanding of anyone who was still mortal, no matter how long-lived they might be. _Some had even viewed the horrible deaths as a release from the eternal torment of knowing that everyone you loved would eventually die and that your rotting body would endure and survive pain upon pain. _She'd shuddered when thinking about that. _I pray the Earth Mother will never let that happen to me._

But all that lay in the past, so Adarra had used her magical reins to summon her swift gray kodo from the pocket of space-time he was suspended in during flight. _I wonder how those Stable Masters do that,_ she thought with a smile as she patted Gor. The sturdy kodo had made a low, rumbling sound after blinking twice. _They never even seem to notice that they're someplace else. Are they even alive in those pockets?_ Gor clearly hadn't cared, all he'd been interested in was the treats she always carried with her.

"There you go, you big lump of kodo. Now, hold still while I mount up, or you won't get any more treats until we get home again!"

She'd set off for the beach first, where she'd shapeshifted into her aquatic form and had plucked large stacks of stranglekelp. After that, she'd used her 'find herbs' tracking rune to search for gromsblood. All had been going well and she'd been almost finished with gathering herbs, when Gor had raised his head in alarm. He'd sniffed the air and moaned in an all-too familiar way. _Alliance! I've wandered too close to Nijel's Point, how could I've been so stupid? Ah, never mind that, where are they?_ Adarra had quickly shifted into her cat form and she'd started to prowl around, blending seemlessly with her surroundings. The second she'd changed shape, a kind of spatial instinct kicked in, feeding her information about any humanoids that were close-by.

_There's four of 'em._ She'd concentrated harder. _Two humans, a night elf and a draenei. I sense a tamed tiger nearby, so one of them has to be a hunter. The night elf probably. There's something about that draenei, a darkness… No animal would ever consider being bonded to someone like that. The humans, one male, one female. From the way she moves, she's likely a rogue. So that leaves the man…_ She'd crept closer. _Robes. So either a warlock or a priest. I'm going with priest. Most of those soft-hearted humans don't have the stomach to become a warlock._

Suddenly the night elf had frozen. He'd whistled hard, twice, and his tiger came bounding to him. They'd looked at each other and the tiger had tensed. _They know! But how…?_ Then she'd felt the wind; it had changed direction and Gor's distinct scent wafted past her nostrils. _Oh no… I forgot! I didn't take the time to mask his smell… They know he's here! And when they see him, they'll know there's someone else around…_ The tiger'd started to prowl, fading into the background. _By the Earth Mother, he knows how to shadowmelt!_ The night elf had grabbed his bow and had signalled his allies. The rogue had faded at once, the priest's staff had begun to glow to signal his calling upon the Light for assistance and the draenei… _He's just standing there._ Adarra had studied him more closely then and saw the abundance of weapons and plate gear. _A warrior? But why has he not readied himself, shifted to battle stance or something?_

The draenei had just gazed around him. When his eyes had passed over her, she'd startled. _The darkness… What's wrong with him?_ In his eyes she'd seen not only darkness, but a deep loss as well, mixed with some sort of guilt. For a moment she'd lost her concentration… and then everything had happened in a blur of motion. The rogue had appeared and only a small sound had made Adarra turn around. Her turn had saved her, for a moment later the space she'd occupied only seconds before was disturbed by a green glowing dagger. _No sense in hiding anymore!_ She'd shifted to her moonkin form and had cast thorns, so when the tiger had attacked her from the other side, he'd got hit with a nasty surprise. Still he'd grazed her right arm with his claws.

"Yow!"

The pain'd been hard, intense and had caused her to double over. A singing sound had passed by her left ear and the rogue had screamed. _Arrows!_ In her panick she'd summoned her treants to disable the night elf en had looked around for the rogue, who was being healed by the priest. Just as she'd gotten ready to disable him, the warrior had sprung to life. His battle cry had almost deafened her as he charged in, disregarding everything, even the safety of his supposed friends. Sensing his chance, the tiger had jumped on her back, biting and clawing furiously to take her down and to get the treants off his master. The wind had then been knocked out of her by the warrior, his big axe swinging dangerously close to her stomach and leaving a nasty gash in her side.

"NOOOOOO! GET AWAY FROM ME!"

She'd screamed at the top of her lungs and years of training and instinct took over. Everything faded in the heat of battle. Roots erupted from the ground to ensnare the warrior. Stars rained from the sky. Insects started to eat away at the tiger on her back. A small typhoon caught the rogue's thrown daggers and threw them back. Beams of moonfire hit the ground randomly, occasionally hitting home. The earth trembled when faced with this much raw power. Through a haze of pain and fury Adarra only saw enemies that needed to be killed. It had been beyond horrendous and she fought against the memories, not wanting to relive them.

* * *

The soft sound that had triggered all her memories now took Adarra back to the present. She looked around her and noticed a small, breathing motion in one of the corpses. The draenei was still alive! Early in the fight she had entangled him in roots, so she could finish off the human priest first. She had only given the warrior a second thought when the roots had let him go, after which she had hit him with all she got. When he went down, she thought she had finished him off.

Slowly she walked towards the draenei and as she got closer, she heard a faint, rasping sound coming from his lips. _He's barely alive… but he is alive_. She kneeled beside him as silently as she could, while laying down her staff behind her. As soon as her shadow fell over the draenei's face, he started to moan. The moaning changed to soft whispering. It sounded like a prayer. Adarra leaned closer to try and make out the words.

Suddenly the warrior's eyes opened and he grabbed Adarra with his right hand. Even though he was clearly dying, his grip was hard as steel. He pulled her to his lips and started speaking.

"Tauren… grant me honor… and kill me… don't let me die like this… spare me the pain… and KILL ME!"

That short outburst cost him all the strength he had left. Consciousness faded from him and his arm fell to the ground. Suddenly everything she had done that day, every spell she had cast, every foul word she had uttered, overwhelmed Adarra.

… The look of despair in the dying priest's eyes as she'd hit him with a final burst of moonfire…

… The tiger that defended his night elf master out of love, only to be eaten alive by a swarm of insects…

… The rogue that died with his own daggers in his chest…

Her continuing hypocrisy about the whole war made Adarra hate herself more than ever before. She looked down at the draenei, whose life had almost slipped away from him. She looked at his fallen comrades, who had committed no other crime than to be members of the Alliance. She looked at the blood that stained the ground, at the bloodstains on her clothes… and she knew exactly what to do.

"No," she said, her voice as cold as ice, "there will be no more deaths today."

Adarra laid her right hand on the draenei's chest and felt it rise and fall slowly, ever so slowly. _His energy is fading… but he could survive. He will survive!_ She stood up and took a step back. She closed her eyes and felt the earth, felt the living energy of everything around her. Through her feet she started to summon that energy, tapped into it, felt it course through her body, inhabit every cell. Her eyes snapped open and they shone with a bright, green light. Her hands started to glow as Adarra channeled the earth's energies through her. Swirls of green light surrounded her and the soft morning breeze turned into a roaring wind.

"By the spirits of my ancestors, you shall not die today, warrior!" she declared in a harsh voice. "Instead of death, I grant you… LIFE!"

A thundering whirlwind of green light surrounded the dying draenei. His body trembled and his back arched as all his muscles went rigid. A terrible moan escaped his lips, as if he protested against this gift, this second chance. The forces of nature that coursed through Adarra's body began their lightning-fast healing: within seconds all of the warrior's wounds were healed, all his bones unbroken and his eyes snapped open, revealing the same green glow that shone through the druid's eyes. At the same time a culmination of everything she had experienced in her life, from that one talk with her mother until that moment, led her to an insight, a vision that shone clear in her mind.

_No more deaths today... no more deaths... There shall be no more deaths of innocents by my hands!_ Nature itself heard Adarra's vow and took hold of it. In the same instance that she granted life to an enemy, her ancestral spirits granted her vow the power of binding: it could never be undone again. But instead of regretting it, she cherished it. _My Vow,_ she thought, _my Vow. It took me so long to see, to understand... but I have changed. And I will change, not only myself, but the whole world._ Yes, the wind whispered. Yes, her ancestors sighed. Yes, her heart sang.

"NO!"

That single word of defiance brought Adarra back to the real world. Her powers faded and the joyous feeling of just moments before left her. But something was left behind, something that would be forever changed.

"No, no, no..." moaned the warrior and he closed his eyes, "no, what have you done? What have you done?"

Adarra looked at him, moaning like a pitiful infant. Instead of thanks, he gave her nothing. She heard disappointment, utter surprise and above all anger in his voice. She grimaced as she answered him and was barely able to keep contempt from her voice.

"I have given you life, warrior. There shall be no more deaths today, or any other day, at least not by my hand. Be grateful that you live to fight and die another day, instead of feeling your life drain from your body and your soul fleeing to whatever it is that you draenei call heaven. Or hell."

The ungrateful draenei seemed not to have heard her and he had covered his eyes with his hands. Sensing that he was almost fully healed, she touched her head, her heart and drew the ancient rune for 'good voyage' in the air. Without giving him another thought, she turned to leave. The next thing she knew was that a blade was pressed against her throat and her left arm was pinned to her body. As her eyes widened in disbelief, she thought: _He moves faster than a hunter and he fooled me! He fooled me into thinking he was harmless! I should not have been this careless... This is truly a day of learning for me._

"Do not move a muscle, tauren," the warrior hissed in Adarra's ear, "do not even think about escaping. You may have given me life, but do not think for a moment that I care about that or that I owe you something. You have given me something I do not want and I have no qualm about taking that same thing from you in a heartbeat. Nod if you understand me."

Only half of what the draenei said reached Adarra, as she was busy calling on the earth's powers with her right hand. _Fools. Fools they are, all of them. You'd think they'd know about druids from the night elves, but no... Our Alliance counterparts guard their – our – secrets well._ This thought sent an unexpected rush of emotion through her body that felt a lot like... joy? _No time for that, focus, Adarra, focus... _She nodded once.

"Now listen to me, druid. I shall have my fight. We'll duel and we'll fight as long as one of us is standing. And whoever loses, loses. No second chance. No cheating death. No resurrections! Do I make myself clear? I'll fight you and if I lose, you'll kill me... or let me die. Do you understand me?"

She nodded again.

"Good. Now, I'll let you go on the count of three and then we'll start. Get ready, tauren. One, two, thr-"

Roots burst from the ground around them and entangled the pair in less than a second. The draenei's body was locked in place; almost every part of him was covered by the plant. Only his face and his chest were visible.

"You honorless cow! You filthy Horde scum!"

He spat on Adarra's head and she could feel how he tried to move his blade so he could cut her artery. The roots that entangled him kept him firmly in place while she pushed his arms aside as gently as possible, which wasn't easy to do since he struggled against her and the roots every step of the way. But eventually she freed herself and turned around to face him. His eyes burned with hatred as he looked at her, but there was something else there... _Pain? Sorrow? No, it's an emptiness... he has lost something and that's why he wants to die._ The tiny seed of something yet undefined that was planted in her during her vision grew just a little as Adarra's heart softened when she realized this. The angry look on her face melted away and she tried to look at her enemy as if he was just someone she hadn't met yet. A stranger who'd crossed her path by accident.

And as she looked at him, she saw him for the first time. Adarra realized suddenly how beautiful the draenei race was, with their soft skin tones, their unblemished appearance and their stunning eyes. _Those eyes... they have no pupils, but they shine with a faint light that comes from within. A light that's similar to the light I've seen... The light all around me. In my friends, my teachers, my family. In the good of heart, the kind ones, the learned ones. It is the light I see when I look into my own eyes and it's the light that's absent from the eyes of those that are _wrong_ somehow. Not evil, but just wrong._ She knew just what to say to him, even though he wouldn't listen to her at this moment.

"We are the same, you and I," she said in a steady voice, "we are of the same mind, the same spirit. Ever since your kind crashed on our world and your twisted kin came to us through the Dark Portal, ever since we learned more about your and thus our own history, about the how, the who and the why of it all, we fought you when we should have united. We should have made peace in order to face our enemies, the enemies that threaten the very existence of every living thing on this or any other world. But that chance is long gone. We are at war and nothing I can say or do will change your or anyone else's mind. Not now anyway. But today... today has been a day of learning, of insights, and even though I committed horrible deeds today, I've vowed not to do that ever again. So I let you live, I let you go. And even now I'll let you go. I'll even tell you my name, so you may remember these words, from whom you've heard them first and where you've heard them. And maybe someday you'll remember, after hearing about strange or wonderful things, and you'll tell people about these words. Maybe not. Maybe I'm just saying this for myself, to make sure my Vow is heard so it will be harder for me to break. But keep it I will!"

Even though his mouth was not restrained by the roots, the draenei warrior hadn't said a word during Adarra's speech. And now, in the silence that lingered between them, he remained silent. The fire in his eyes, the fire of hatred, hadn't subsided, but the emptiness seemed a little less pronounced, a little less _empty_. So she continued.

"My Vow is this, draenei warrior: There shall be no more deaths of innocents by my hands. And I consider everyone innocent who fights for his family, his friends, his land, true honor or a higher goal. But those that seek to gain profit, be it material or immaterial, shall not be considered innocent. And they shall die a thousand deaths by my hands if necessary and I shall give my life a thousand times if needed to defend the innocents against them. I am alone in this. I won't expect you to believe me or even to heed my cause, but that doesn't matter. I've made my choice and I've made my Vow. You'll live, warrior, so go home and forget about this day if it pleases you. Or tell about this day if that pleases you, I don't mind either way."

She grabbed him by the chin and held her face close to his. Now her eyes burned and his inner fire subsided for a brief moment.

"My name is Adarra Redhoof. May your days be safe, your journeys quick and your enemies few."

She turned, grabbed her staff and jumped up in the air while shape-shifting into a mighty storm crow. Not once did she look back, her mind already focused on what lay ahead. She knew she could never go back to the way things were before this encounter, but just what she would do, she didn't know. Yet.

* * *

The wind from the stormcrow's wings swept up dust and obscured the warrior's sight for a moment. When the dust settled, the tauren druid was gone. Immediately the roots let go of the defeated warrior and disappeared. A light breeze danced around him as he stood between his fallen comrades, his face still looking in the direction that she'd taken off in. Not long after the soft wind finally died down the earth at the lone draenei's feet was stained by silent tears.


	8. Family Ties, I

Family Ties

_It's cold in here. Cold and dark. And the noises... always the awful noises. I can't get away from them. Why am I here? What have I done? And why do I feel so empty? Why do I feel so HUNGRY? The food they bring me when I'm not looking doesn't nourish me... The water they give me doesn't take away my thirst. But the hunger... The hunger is unbearable! Time is endless down here... time doesn't exist in my world. When I don't eat, the food disappears. When I eat, the dishes disappear. I only know time goes by because of my thoughts; they keep going forward. They keep changing. And I know... I know because they come. They come to get me and do things to me. But what? I can't remember, I only see fragments in my dreams and nightmares... beautiful dreams... horrible nightmares..._

_They come. I hear them. I SENSE them. I know, but I'm not afraid. This time it will be different. Something will happen... This time I'll tear out their throats, I'll rip out their eyes, I'll bite and slash them, anything to get away! Even... even if it kills me! But wait... Tear? Slash? With what? I don't have weapons, I'm not a strong person. I've always been a weakling. My father said so. My father... My father, he's dead, isn't he? And my mother too. My parents, my sister, my friends, they're all dead. They're dead... and I live. I promised. I promised them. I promised my parents… I said... What did I say? I said I'd do something, but what? What? WHAT? I promised them! I promised-_

Outside the cell he heard voices coming closer and saw light shining through the little hole they used to dump his food through. Heavy footsteps betrayed that the persons coming were big and strong... and it sounded like hooves. That could only mean one of two things; either he was being held captive by draenei, which was unlikely since there were no draenei in the part of the world where he had lived. Or they belonged to Broken... and thus the Legion. But the man did not feel fear at their approach. He only felt wonder... and still some part of him felt hungry. And he asked himself again: _What did I promise?_

"You didn't promise them anything, puny mortal."

The voice sounded like someone whose vocal cords were cut and sewn back together. It sounded like stones grinding together. It sounded... demonic. _Demonic... Not Broken. Demons! The demons have come for me!_

"Yes, mortal... We have come. We are demons. We are the Burning Legion."

Two points of light appeared on the floor, in the wall of his cell. They travelled upward at a fair pace, then turned toward each other when they reached the ceiling. Then they touched... and a whole section of the wall just vanished. Bright light shone on the prisoner who sat huddled in a corner. The light came from the burning flames on the shoulders and head of the big, blue demon that stood in the doorway. Behind him stood a female draenei, with bright purple skin. She looked wrong somehow, not like the draenei he'd known.

_I've never seen them before... have I? They never came for me, it was always... others. Others... Strange beings, that moved in a peculiar way. Empty eyes, empty hearts... I know what they are, but I don't know the word! I don't know the NAME! And the hunger... why doesn't it go away? Why can't I feed it? Why can't I SATISFY it?_

The blue demon stepped aside to make room for the female draenei. He realized what was wrong with her; even though she didn't carry flames, she burned _on the inside_. Burned with bright, blue flame, as if she was nothing more than a flame encased in an otherwise empty husk. _How can that be?_ He looked at her as she approached and kneeled down before him. _Her eyes..._ her eyes were filled with black fire, dancing behind their golden exterior. Before he knew what he was doing, he raised his hands and touched her face. It didn't burn... it felt warm. Pleasant. _It feels... safe. Is this... is this the last time? Will I die now? Will this timeless existence end?_ She spoke, as if to answer his unspoken questions, and her voice was the sound of an angel, mesmerizing him with every word.

"Yes... your existence will end, as will mine. You have been molded, prepared, for this moment. Your memory will return when we have finished the ritual as you asked of us. As you promised us. As you vowed to us. You are ready. And when you have died, your hunger will end. That is my promise to you."

She took hold of his hands and they stood up together. Two crystal clear images suddenly sprang to his mind. His mother, smiling down at him, after giving him the much wanted faerie dragon for his birthday. His father, patting his head when he had caught the biggest mud jaw snapper at the annual fishing contest. He was still dazzled by these two picture-perfect memories when a third came to mind; his mother and father, dead, disemboweled, with blood trickling from their mouths, their hands locked together as they died. And then, the most horrible of his nightmares came back; his mother and father, reanimated and walking around as undead corpses, coming to fetch him from his cell... And then, and then... _NO! I don't want to see! I don't want to know! My head, my body... it aches! Why does it ache? Why am I still alive? Why am I here? Why are they... Why are my parents undead? The Scourge, the scourge... My sister... my brother... my pain... MY HUNGER!_

"You'll see soon enough, young one," spoke the strange draenei and her voice soothed him, eased the pain, and chased away his memories, dreams and nightmares.

"Just come with me and you'll know. Everything will be clear once this is over. Your pain will cease, your memories won't bother you and your nightmares will become your dreams. And your hunger... your hunger will not haunt you anymore. Trust me... Trust me..."

She left the cell and he followed. The blue demon closed up the cell and they set off towards the stairs. The only light that guided them was demon fire. He didn't feel fear. Whatever awaited him, it meant that everything would end soon. Be it with his death or something else, that didn't matter. It would end soon. _I won't go back to that cell again and I won't go back home again. It will end._ Suddenly it occurred to him that the noise had stopped. He hadn't heard it since the demons came to get him. Over time he had gotten used to it, the constant moaning and screaming and howling, the rattling and cursing and pleading, the accusing and excusing and praying. It was gone. A faint smile appeared on his face. _Maybe that's why I know it will end today. They've taken them too... They've taken them upstairs. For me. I'll see them soon, my brother and sister._

* * *

Ranax had awoken to the sound of sobbing, which ceased soon after. It took him a while to remember where he was and what had happened, but after some time the memories came back to him, slowly but surely. _My brother and sister... where are they?_ His cell was simple, yet foolproof: cold stone, no door and no windows, just a small opening where his food could be shoved through. Or so he presumed. To his surprise the cell was dry and clean. He even found a covered-up hole in the ground where he could deposit his 'trash'. The cell smelled... well, it smelled like nothing. He could only smell himself. _Either the stories about dungeons are wrong or someone is taking meticulous care of prisoners._ That thought didn't particularly comfort him, because it raised an unsettling question: _Why would prisoners be treated well?_ The only answer that came to mind was that 'they', whoever they might be, considered prisoners valuable. _But valuable for what? A trade? Or... Something else?_ Suddenly Ranax shivered and it wasn't the cold that caused it.

Once more he heard sobbing. It appeared to come from outside the cell. _It has to, otherwise I'm hearing ghosts._ A possibility that seemed all too real in this eerie place. He placed his ear on the small opening so he could hear that sad sound better. Now the sobbing got a distinct tone to it; he'd heard it before. _Leanne? Could it be my sister?_

"Anne?" Ranax called out through the hole. "Leanne, can you hear me? Little sis, please answer me! If that's you, please say something!"

Silence. Then a soft whisper, a question, floated through the darkness.

"Ranax?"

Ranax' heart skipped a beat when he heard her soft voice. _She's alive!_

"Yes, Anne, it's me! I'm here, I can hear you! Don't cry no more, I'm here, I'll take care of you..."

His voice trailed off as he realized what he was saying. _How can I take care of her? How will everything be alright? I'm stuck in here and she's stuck in there and there's nothing either of us can do about it! Except... To talk. To keep faith. To believe in a happy ending..._ But even as he thought about this, he felt his hope and his faith slipping away from him. There would be no happy ending. He could feel it. Sometimes he _felt_ things, he knew things he couldn't possibly know. And now this 'gift' let him know, without a doubt, that things would not be alright. _Not at all._

"Ranax? Are you still there?"

He could hear that her voice was strained. She tried to keep from crying, because she wanted to hear him, she wanted... No, she needed him. _There's no time to think about the future,_ Ranax thought bitterly, _the now is cruel enough._

"I'm still here, don't worry! How... How are you, little sis? And how's... how's Kron doing?"

_As if I don't know… but I have to be sure._ It took a while before Leanne answered and her answer made him feel even less positive about a happy outcome of this all.

"I.. I don't know, Ran. He's not here and I... I haven't seen or heard him. But I... Did it really happen? Oh great Ysera, did it really happen? Did I really see... It couldn't have happened that way, could it? Oh please, Ran... Please, say it's not true! Tell me that Ailera came out alive!"

The pure sorrow that he heard in Leanne's voice tore Ranax' heart in two. Tears fell from his eyes as he recalled the events of that horrible day. His parents, dead... His sister, caught in the falling rubble, buried beneath their own roof... And his brother, his brother... Rage flared up inside of him. _How in Nozdormu's name did it all happen? What evil had its eye on our family? Why did we have to suffer? And Kron... By all that's holy in this world, if I ever see him again, I'll strangle him with my own hands for the murdering bastard that he is!_

"I'm sorry," he whispered, knowing full well that his words would tear his sister's world apart, "I'm sorry, Anne... It happened. It was real. Kron did this to us. He killed his sister... And he killed his own parents! He killed them, he helped destroy our village... He's evil, sis. Evil! There's not a power great enough left in this world to save his soul."

His words echoed through the empty hallway._ Or to save him from me._ The promise, however deeply felt, was hollow and Ranax knew it. He sighed and turned his back to the wall. Not long after the silence had returned, the sobbing returned as well.


	9. Family Ties, II

Some time later Ranax awoke to the smell of food. A tray filled with food and drink had been shoved through the small hole, a feat that seemed impossible, especially since the tray itself was at least four times wider than the hole. A delicious smell tickled his nostrils. He tried to cast a minor detection spell to see if the food was safe to eat, but to his dismay he couldn't find a single spark of magic inside him. _So... this is a dampening cell. That must mean that whoever made it or uses it knows quite a lot about magic._ He touched the stones in the wall and could feel no runes on them, no power words, no magical enhancement, nothing. _That reeks of powerful magic... very powerful._ Again a shiver ran down his spine. Ranax knew there weren't many races on Azeroth who could wield powerful spells, let alone create something that dampened magic this effectively. And even if they could, they would have to be of considerable age, since magic grows in its user with every passing year.

There were still some ancient beings around. He'd heard the myths about the mighty dragons, like Ysera and Nozdormu, that his family had chosen as their guardian deities. He'd heard the stories about creatures like Illidan, the naga and the demons. Or the Burning Legion, as they called themselves. He had read about 'elders', people who reached a very old age and did wondrous things with their magic, before they disappeared. For a short time Ranax had delighted in researching the old and mostly incomprehensible texts from almost all races – even those that side with the Horde – and learning about these old ones. There were records of elder mages, druids, shamans, warriors and even warlocks from all races on Azeroth. They performed feats akin to miracles and disappeared without a trace, leaving behind friends and family without saying goodbye. Sometimes they were found again; dead by natural means, their dried husks concealed in forgotten family tombs. Slowly but surely the list of possible surviving elders grew shorter, but some of them had attained a legendary status.

Even though most of those elders were good-natured, among them were the inevitable 'bad eggs'. Names like Illidan and Kael'thas unfortunately proved that you didn't have to have a good heart to end up as an elder. Many people had tried, in vain, to reach this state of being through rigorous research and training their magic skills, but not one of them had succeeded. It seemed that elders came to be mostly by sheer luck, a fortunate set of circumstances that allowed someone to evolve – for lack of a better word – beyond the mere physical boundaries that came with being born as a member of a mortal and hopefully long-living race.

Ranax immersed himself in his knowledge of these elder beings and began to construct a list of possible races that could create prisons such as the one he was currently residing in. His 'Elder List' didn't contain any unknown persons that could be responsible for their predicament, since most of the 'missing-in-action' elders were presumed either benevolent or neutral. The longer he thought about the possibilities, the grimmer the outcome of his thinking started to look. _Anne and I are either being held captive by the naga… or the Burning Legion_. Not much was known by the Alliance about the warped descendants of the Highborne Kaldorei, but Ranax believed that the naga themselves weren't strong enough to create such powerful magic. _If they could, they would've taken revenge on their 'relatives' and their previous allies long ago… So the Legion it is, then._

Leanne was still sleeping and he hoped her dreams were peaceful. If the dampening cell wouldn't have prevented him from casting magic, he would have used one of his dream-weaving spells to guard his sister in her sleep. _But I'm reduced to nothing more than a helpless spectator… Or am I_? He felt around for the food tray and inspected the material it was made of. It felt like stone, but when he banged it against the floor it didn't even chip. _It's rockwood!_ Ranax knew that rockwood was one of the sturdiest types of wood, often used to make wooden weapons that could be imbued with magic. Enchantments on rockwood items never needed to be renewed or re-cast and even though a skilled weapon smith could bend it to his will, rockwood seemed almost impervious to magical attacks once it had been molded into a certain shape by its creator. _Now let's see if I still remember something from my early childhood, when my parents thought I didn't have any magic skills…_


	10. Into the past: Father and Son

As a child from a night elf father and a human mother, everyone had expected Ranax to possess an affinity with magic from birth. But even as Kron had shown remarkable talents in both shadow and nature magic as early as his fifth year, his younger brother Ran remained 'silent'. Whenever family, friends or neighbors brought up the subject of Ran's obvious lack of talent, Lisonius wouldn't hear any of it. He only smiled and said that his son's time would come.

"But, in the mean time, I'll make sure he learns an honorable profession, to make certain that he can make a living for himself if his talents don't make an early appearance."

Not even his wife Brae, a sturdy-looking woman, had the heart to tell him that it might just be possible that Ran's talents would never show up at all. So she just smiled along with everyone and agreed with her somewhat eccentric night elf husband.

So Lisonius set out to find Ranax an honorable profession. Honorable in this case meant learning to either skin, find herbs or mine ore and subsequently learn to either work with leather, make potions and salves or become a blacksmith. In their little village by the river, that didn't even have an official name, there weren't that many professionals to be found. To Lisonius that meant the choice was easy; the only option in his eyes was that Ran visit Grimmox, the old weapon smith who lived downstream. It was a visit that Ran dreaded like nothing else, since everyone knew that Ol' Grim was a loony old fart that hated anything younger than his ancient tabby cat Whiskey.

So, on a sunny afternoon, when it seemed that all the world wanted twelve year old Ran to come out and play, Lisonius told his son to pack up his things for a week-long stay at Grimmox' house.

"But dad, I don't want to go! Everyone's outside and playing now that school's out for the upcoming harvest season and now I have to go and sit in that old fart's house? Eh… wait, I didn't mean to say that..."

Lisonius' face turned dark instantly. His eyes, otherwise a glowing mellow yellow, shone brighter than the sun. Suddenly his father wasn't 'that funny night elf' anymore, but something else entirely. Ran took a frightened step back, but his father grabbed his left arm and held him tight. At the same time a terrible force bore down on his mind, as if a giant hand had grabbed his brain and squeezed it.

"Ranax Odira Lisonius Skycaller!"

Ran heard his father speaking, but his lips didn't move. His father's voice seemed to come from _inside_ him. _My… My father? He seems so… powerful!_

"My son, be silent. I cannot explain my actions to you, but it is of the utmost importance that you obey me in this. Even though my powers do not grant me the wisdom to know which path to choose for you, my common sense tells me that you must go to Grimmox and learn from him what you can. Obey me, my son, and have faith in me."

The air darkened around them and the only light Ran could see, was coming from those burning eyes, framed by Lisonius' white hair. Colorful sparks whizzed through the room, crackling and blinking. Ranax could hardly breathe or think, so he moaned. Still his father didn't relent, didn't let go, but insisted, his voice growing thunderous inside his son's mind.

"WILL YOU OBEY ME?"

"Yes… Yes! I'LL DO ANYTHING YOU WANT, FATHER! PLEASE… Please stop hurting me…"

The squeezing sensation faded as soon as Ran said yes. The sparks blinked away, the sunlight returned and he looked up at his father, who smiled down at his son as benevolently as ever. Before Ran could even get his thoughts together, Lisonius picked up his bags and turned to leave.

"Well, shall we go, Ranax? The sun's shining, it's a beautiful day and the harvest season will last for at least another two months. So what's a week on a whole life, eh?"

Ran followed him obediently and they started their walk to Grimmox' house in silence. Little did Lisonius realize that it was his own actions at that very day that would set his youngest son on the path of his life-long research of the mythical elders. But now the young boy only harbored a resentment towards his dad, who somehow bullied him into doing something he absolutely didn't want to do. _I don't know what he did, but someday I'll do it better! Someday I'll have magic of my own and then he can't make me do things I don't want to anymore! I hate him!_

Lisonius didn't hear his son's thoughts, but the old night elf knew he'd made a mistake by using his hidden powers. The anger that radiated from Ranax almost hurt him. Almost. _But it had to be done… has to be done! Damn you, Illidan! Since you've already been to hell and back, I'll damn you to the deepest nothingness beyond the veils of existence! And damn you, Kael'thas and Arthas! And you, Time Keepers! Damn all of you meddling, foolish gods for destroying everything you came into contact with. Just… Just be damned, each and every one of you… including me. _A single, hot tear rolled down Lisonius' cheek as they continued their silent walk.

* * *

Half an hour into the short journey, Ranax felt as if he was being followed. It was nothing more than a hunch at first, but as he started to look around he glimpsed a sleek shadow that seemed to dart in and out of his field of view. Lisonius didn't to notice anything, so the young half-elf wasn't scared. _Besides, it's not as if we're in a dangerous wood or something. But what can it be then? It can't be a wolf… and it's too agile for a boar. We're too far from the plains for it to be a zehvra… and raptors are too big. Well, maybe it's a… it's a…_

"Mraow!"

A furry lightning bolt zapped from the grass in front of him and landed on his left shoulder. The cat dug its nails enthusiastically in Ranax' soft flesh.

"Auw! That hurts, stupid cat! Get off me!"

_Stupid, stupid, stupid! I'm getting scared by a CAT! _To hide his embarrassment, Ranax started to try and grab the pesky beast to throw it off him. But the slender creature darted from one shoulder to the other, jumped to the ground and up again. The angrier Ranax got, the more fun the little cat seemed to have. It even let out a soft meow now and then, all the while purring like crazy. It was only when he heard his father laugh out loud that Ranax realized how silly he must be looking. Indeed, the old night elf was slapping his knees, almost bellowing with laughter. When Lisonius saw his son looking at him, he straightened himself and kept smiling when he addressed him.

"Aw, Ranax, how much longer will you let Whiskey make a fool out of you? That silly old cat can keep this up all day if she feels like it."

Upon hearing her name, Whiskey sat up and looked at Lisonius. Her whole demeanor changed at once. Instead of a frivolous young kitten a regal old cat now sat in front of Ranax. He saw his father and the cat regard each other for only a few seconds. Something passed between them… And then Whiskey was upon him again, this time staying put on his left shoulder. _What just happened? That cat… and my father… I'm not surprised they know each other, but there's something else going on… What's happening here?_ Ran had a distinct _feeling_ that everything that happened up to now had a hidden meaning he didn't comprehend. _And someday I'll find out what it is. But for now…_

"For now I want you to get off me, you annoying thing!"

"No chance of that now, son. She likes you. And when Whiskey likes you, no amount of yelling, cursing or cajoling can convince her otherwise. It seems like you're stuck with her this coming week, heh heh."

Whiskey agreed with Lisonius by purring loudly and maintaining her new favorite place on the young boy. After a few half-hearted attempts at cat-removal, Ranax gave up and started following his father again. The old night elf had already regained his walking pace, but his son saw that there was a renewed spring in his father's steps, almost as if this funny encounter had given him a new kind of strength. Ran's heart-felt hatred from half an hour ago was already forgotten as the mystery surrounding Lisonius deepened. _It's as if some burden has fallen from his shoulders… Maybe only to land on someone else's? Mine perhaps?_ Ten sharp pinpricks seemed to agree with this assessment. The trio continued the rest of the journey in silence.


	11. Into the past: The Blue House, I

**Into the past: The Blue House**

Finally, after another two hours walking alongside the small river, they reached Grimmox' place. Ranax had been hearing the rhythmic sounds of steel being pounded into shape for about fifteen minutes, carried along by the friendly flowing water on his right. Grey smoke billowed from the huge chimney, right in the center of the house, if you could call it that. It looked more like a giant, fat cartwheel, turned on its side with the spoke still sticking out. The walls were made of a sturdy-looking stone with a blue hue, all standing beneath a thatched roof. Most windows were round, with four window panes each, except one; an enormous stained glass window reached all the way from the ground to the roof. Right in the middle of it was a big, double, heavy wooden door.

"Wow… It's… It's… I…"

"Big? Huge? Blue? Round? Come on, Ran, say what you think! Your mother hasn't raised you to be lost for words now, has she?"

His father's teasing knocked some sense back into Ranax. _How can I describe this? It's so… It's just so…_

"It's just… Great! Dad, how come none of the houses in our village look like that? It looks so… sturdy! Grand, like a miniature castle or something. I love it!"

Suddenly, after more than two hours of being silent, Ranax wanted to make noise. He whooped, jumped, ran around his father and almost forgot what it was that had brought him here. Lisonius stood looking at his son's childish joy for a moment before he set off towards the house. Ranax, who had just tried to do a cartwheel, failed spectacularly and was now sitting on the ground – with Whiskey still on his shoulder surprisingly enough – saw this. Immediately all his happy feelings were gone. _I still have to stay here for a week… no friends, no family, nothing. Just a cat, a grumpy old man and me. Great._

Through the double door, which was standing wide open, Lisonius could see a broad-shouldered figure pounding away at what looked like a sword of some kind. With each blow red-hot sparks sprang away and landed in the sand surrounding the anvil. The night elf put one foot inside the workshop… Immediately the blacksmith stopped his work and looked straight at him. Lisonius froze on the spot as they gazed at each other.

In the sudden silence Ranax, who had slowly and surely been making his way to the big house, looked up to see his father standing frozen in the great doorway. From the shadows behind the big fire in the workplace a pair of eyes stared angrily at the trespasser. _Two fierce eyes… that belong to an orc!_

"No! Dad, watch out, it's an orc! It's a trap! Where's Grimmox? Dad? Don't stand there, let's go!"

As fast as he could he ran to his father and grabbed him tight.

"Dad? Dad, come on, let's go, let's go now, let's go, come on…" he implored softly while pulling at his father's shirt.

"Ssshhh…" Lisonius replied as he took his son's right hand and held him close, "be still and look at Whiskey."

Ranax had totally forgotten about the obnoxious cat that had sat on his shoulder for more than two hours. At the sight of the house she had jumped down and ran off. In his initial enthusiasm and later sulking he hadn't even wondered where she could have gone. Now he saw her, crouching behind the bulky orc, who was still staring at his father. _What's she gonna do? She's just a cat… she can't do anything! She'll be killed! Why won't dad do anything?_ He tried to get away from Lisonius, tried to break loose and go for help, or help Whiskey… _I don't know what to do! But I can't… I can't stay here and watch…_

Whiskey, unaware of her audience, kept crouching closer and closer to her adversary, when suddenly she stopped. Her tail swished a few times, her muscles tensed… and again, like a furry lightning bolt she sailed through the air, landing squarely on top of the orc's left shoulder. Ranax flinched, afraid of what would happen to the poor cat. Seconds passed… and the orc just blinked. Once. Then a smile appeared on his face.

"Ey, Whiskers, looks like ya made a new friend."

The voice sounded like all orcish voices; low, kind of gravelly and guttural. The smile, with the lower tusks protruding from his lips, looked threatening. But what the orc just said didn't quite match the overall impression of a fierce enemy of the Alliance. Ranax was thoroughly confused, especially when he heard that Whiskey – _Or Whiskers?_ – had started to purr. Then the whole scène changed: Lisonius laughed, let go of his son and walked to the orc, arms outstretched. The impressive orc opened his arms too and the two supposed enemies hugged. Lean and tall as he was, Lisonius almost disappeared in the orc's arms, who, as Ranax noticed, wasn't green, but light brown. _I… eh… what… I don't… What in Ysera's name is going on?_

"Lisonius, ol' pal o' mine, whatcha been doin' these past years, eh?"

His demeanor was that of a trusted friend… and suddenly everything made sense again.

"You… You're Grimmox, aren't you? Dad, is thát Grimmox? Grimmox is an orc? An orc? Why aren't you fighting him? What's going on? Who IS he?"

The two old friends pals broke off their bear hug. Lisonius was grinning wildly as Grimmox looked at Ranax.

"Hmm, looks like tha' son o' yours isn't as stupid as them toddlers you 'ave running around that craphole you call a village, eh?"

The blacksmith smiled the biggest smile Ran had ever seen… and winked at him! _So, they're friends… but I still don't understand how that can be!_

"Seems to me he's got 'is head screwed on right, Sticks. Now why dontcha explain things to him, eh? Before he runs off and goes screamin' about some orc attackin' and eatin' ol' Grim, hm? An' while you're at it, go do it outside if you please. I can't concentrate with that filthy night elf smell in here. Makes me wanna, y'know, puke! Heh heh heh."

Before his father made a move, Whiskers jumped from Grimmox' shoulder and rushed to Ranax. With a flying leap she landed on his shoulder, yawned and made herself comfortable. Immediately a soft purring reached Ran's ear as the bold cat watched Lisonius approach.

"Well, whaddaya say," came the surprised voice of Grim, "the ol' girl likes ya, Ranax. Don't think too lightly about that, son."

Right after making this enigmatic statement the orc resumed his work. Loud and steady pounding filled the workshop, with the fire and sparks creating dancing shadows on the walls.

"Come Ran, let's go outside. Grimmox will finish in an hour or so and after that, we eat."

The grown night elf led his half-nelf son away from the grand house under the watchful eye of a very smug-looking cat. They sat down on the riverbank – Whiskers jumped down – near a small dock with a sturdy boat anchored to it. To their left was the blacksmith's house, to their right stood a fairly large patch of reed that swayed a bit in the barely blowing wind. In the clear water they could see all kinds of fishes swimming about, doing whatever it is that fishes do during the day. Giant dragonflies skittered across the surface, occasionally catching a small fish and flying off with it. It was a perfect harvest day with only a few friendly clouds in the sky.


	12. Into the past: The Blue House, II

_Has it only been half a day?_ Ran wondered. _Did everything really happen?_ He stroked the sleepy cat lying beside him. She lifted her head, looked at him and started purring again. Whiskers radiated happiness and seemed to say to 'Yes, it happened. We're here... now pet me!'. And his father just sat there, eyes closed, not saying a word. The silence of nature around them started to grate at Ran's nerves, until he finally found the courage to open his mouth. Of course, Lisonius beat him to it.

"Do you ever wonder why we fight, Ran?"

The question hung between them like a living entity, waiting for an answer and knowing it would probably never come. Ran gave the question some serious thought, but found that he couldn't even begin to answer it. _What does it mean?_ was all he could think about.

"Do you... Do you ever wonder why we're here? Not here, I mean, but _here_, on this world, in these bodies?"

Lisonius looked down at his son and saw that the boy genuinely struggled with what he had just said. Ran's mouth opened and closed a few times before he gave up. He looked up at his father. _My, how he has grown... has it already been twelve years? And I got frustrated with him... He's not even considered a child yet by the standards of my people. Our people, the beautiful Kaldorei... Ishnu'dal'dieb. May luck be with our people. Elune knows we need it, now more than ever._

"Ah, Ranax, don't try to answer those silly questions. Just bear with your old father when he reminisces about an orc who once saved his life... But that's a tale for another day, I think. For now, take it from me that Grimmox is a member of the original orc race, before their blood was tainted and before they came to our world. He's not an orc as we have come to know them, he's a Mag'har. When we ventured through the Dark Portal, to the world where the orcs once lived sort of peacefully and where our newest allies, the draenei, took refuge before they crashed on Azeroth, we met them. Both Horde and Alliance were welcomed by the naaru, who thought they had lost the draenei to the Burning Legion and had been fighting to preserve what was left of that world. The Mag'har are a beautiful and proud people to behold, Ran. They are what all orcs should have been, were it not for those monstrous demons who corrupt all that they touch!"

Only a hint of his enormous rage at this utter betrayal, this utter befouling of once proud beings seeped through to be heard in his voice. Ranax _felt_ there was also something else tied to that rage, something more personal... But the annoying thing was that the closer related someone was, the less accurate his feelings were. _So, there's something there alright, but I have no idea what. _His resolve to know, to comprehend the world around him, strengthened._ I don't care what I find out, I have to know. I need to know. I don't want to live my life in darkness, in not-knowing. If I don't know what's going on, I can't prepare. Just as I was unprepared today._ The voice of Lisonius cut through his thoughts, as if to underline that resolve. _And to do that, I'd better start listening first._

"Ran, I... I've been battling the forces of evil, for lack of a better word, all my life. It started when I was still a young and hot-headed boy, who thought he could take on the whole world single-handedly. It was a youthful mistake to think that... A mistake that should've turned out to be just... unfortunate. Life should have only given me a fair slap on the hand, should have only given me a something stupid to be ashamed about, to feel sorry for... But instead, life did not only slap me on the hand for my outlook on life, life crushed me. It crushed me almost completely, son. I, I was... It was beyond horrible, beyond your worst nightmares. It didn't take my dreams away... it obliterated them. I grew up in one night, the longest night of my long existence. It took me a long time to come to terms with the fact that the events of that day, that night, were partly my fault. I invited tragedy in, so to speak, by being cocky. By thinking I knew everything… I knew NOTHING, Ran, nothing! I still don't know enough to stop the nightmares, to stop the guilt... to stop the demons. But what I do know is that we need all the allies we can get. Be it draenei, dwarves, humans... or orcs, trolls and tauren. Yes, even our enemies... we need them. We need them desperately. And as long as we don't realize that, we're losing this war. It may not look like it now, but we're loosing... And we're losing fast. With all my knowledge, all my experience, I am powerless to stop it. We need everyone and somehow... somehow you fit into this picture. You have a very important role to play in things to come. That's why I'm certain that one day your magical skills will surface. I believe in you, Ranax. I believe in you. Even when no one else does, I do. I believe in you... and I love you. For all eternity, as sappy as that may sound. Never forget that. Whatever happens, don't forget what I said today and don't EVER doubt that I love you and believe in you."

The old night elf put his hand on Ran's shoulder and smiled a sad smile.

"And that's why you have to stay with my dear old friend Grimmox for this week. You have to learn things that I can't teach you, skills and knowledge that may come in handy one day. Or maybe not. And if the worst comes to pass and you don't develop magical skills, you'll still be able to make a living, to provide for yourself and for your future family. Blacksmiths are never out of work, not during war time, not during peace time. Heh, you see, your old father knows what he's doing! Well, sometimes anyway."

In an unusual show of affection Lisonius ruffled his son's hair. The next moment he was lying on the ground, pounced on by his youngest boy. _Oh gods, is he still angry with me? That look in his eyes... Is it a look of anger or something else? I can't tell... _But Ran wasn't mad anymore. His son grimaced as he tried to blink away tears and he hugged his father tighter than ever before.

"Oh dad, please don't ever leave me," Ran sobbed, "I wouldn't know what to do without you! I know I was mad at you, but I didn't really mean it! I'm just... I just want to play with my friends and help out with the harvest and swipe cookies from miss Dahlia and play 'poke the boar' and... and..."

Ranax broke down and cried. He couldn't say a single word without hiccupping or stuttering. He still clenched to his father, as if he was afraid the agile night elf would be blown away by the wind. _I don't understand half of what he said, but I know he's going away! I _feel_ it! And then what'll I do? I hate Kron, I hate him! And I don't have any good friends, they just tolerate me... Tolerate me because of Kron! I don't need his help, I want dad's help! I don't want him to go... don't want him to go..._

"... don't go, please don't go, don't go away, please don't dad, please don't go..."

"Ssshh, Ranax, sshh, I'm not going anywhere."

Lisonius shushed his son, stroked his hair and held him close. Some of his tears fell on his son's hair, where they glistened like pearls of guilt, for Lisonius knew what he would have to do. _Oh Elune, why are you so cruel? I know what has to be done... But does that include breaking my own heart? Does that include leaving my son when he might need me the most? Damn you!_

"Just... just remember what I said, okay? Just remember that..."

* * *

When Grimmox had finished his work for the day and went looking for his friend, he found father and son lying in the grass, sleeping peacefully in each other's arms. In between them lay a small bundle of fur, purring ever so softly. _Aw hell, never mind dinner then, I'll go get somethin' to cover 'em up with, _the old orc decided._ An' I'd better get some blankets for m'self, since I guess I'll be stayin' with 'em tonight. No need for me an' catch a cold after a life-long clean bill o' health!_

"You stay here, ol' girl, stay here and guard 'em. And may the gods have mercy on your pitiful soul if somethin' were to happen to 'em!"

Whiskers opened one of her eyes and regarded Grimmox with a look of utter contempt. Of course I'll look after them, silly orc, she seemed to say, now go about your business and leave us be. Grimmox sighed. _One day, Whiskers, one day, so help me Nozdormu, I'll put my boot against your fluffy butt!_ However, the smile on his face made it abundantly clear that he would never follow through on this all-too familiar threat.


	13. Into the past: Hurt, I

**Into the past: Hurt**

Ranax woke early the next morning with a voracious appetite. When he opened his eyes and noticed the sun, he was astonished to see that he had actually slept from late afternoon 'till the next day. He had a soft pillow under his head and found himself lying underneath a rough-woven blanket. As he wondered about how he got the pillow and the blanket, he suddenly remembered what happened earlier. _Dad? Dad!_ He looked around and saw the remains of campfire. Neither his father nor Whiskers was in sight. His stomach growled.

"Hungry, aren't ya?"

"Wha-?"

Grimmox was standing behind him with a wooden bowl of what looked like bland vomit, but smelled like porridge.

"Come now, son, it's not as if ya 'aven't seen me before, eh? Here, take a seat on this nice an' comfy log and eat your breakfast before it's cold. It… It'll be awhile before Sticks… your father gets back. I'll make us a cuppa tea while y'eat, how 'bout that?"

Somehow the tone of voice of the old orc seemed different to Ranax. And he got this nagging _feeling_ that, again, something was going on that he had no idea about. _Where's dad? Why did he leave without waking me? And where's-_

"Mraow!"

Out of nowhere Grimmox' faithful pet came pelting at him. She took an enormous leap and for a moment it seemed as if she was flying… Only to land squarely in Ran's lap, where she started purring and begging for some porridge.

"Whiskers! Hey crazy cat, how are you doing this morning? Want some of this, hm? I don't know if that's okay with your master…"

When Ranax looked up, he saw Grimmox grinning like crazy.

"Heh, me? Her master? I think she'd have somethin' to say about that, young Skycaller. But sure, sure! Go ahead. Give the ol' girl wha' she wants. If she doesn't get some porridge in the mornin', she'll be as cranky as a flayer queen all day! And worst of all…" Grimmox lowered his voice as he leaned towards Ran, "that furry grouch will take it out on me!"

Ran smiled and replied: "I wouldn't want her to do that, sir. So… Here you go, Whiskey… eh, Whiskers."

The small feline waited for Ran to pour some hot porridge in his spoon. He blew on it a couple of times to make sure it wasn't too hot. As soon as he put the spoon down, Whiskers started lapping up the food with all the grace one could expect from a hungry cat. Her purring was louder than any Ran had ever heard before.

"Now tha' she's got her fill, you make sure you eat yours, you hear! I don't wanna see you wastin' away like them other stick-figure kiddies you play with, eh. Lisonius would… Well… I'd guess he'd have a thing or two to say abou' me not takin' care of ya, I think…"

It was the second time that Ranax heard Grimmox' voice trailing off when he talked about his father. Out of the blue he _felt_ it again: _Something's wrong. Something's very wrong. Dad…_

"Grimmox… my dad… he's gone, isn't he? And… and he's not coming back any time soon, is he?"

"Eh… Well… You see, son, it's like this…"

The old orc sighed. _Dammit, Sticks, why'd you leave like this? It's worse enough that I couldn't come with ya, but to leave your kid in my care… Don't get me wrong, I'm sure I'll love 'm to death once the week is up, but still… Sticks, I'll swear the next time I'll see you I'll kick your butt before makin' sure you cannot leave without me again! You need me! Hasn't your past taught you anythin'?_

"Grimmox? Are you feeling okay?"

"Wha-? Oh, sorry 'bout that, son. I was just thinkin'... But never mind that. The point is... well... he's gone. I never even 'eard 'm go. He was always sneaky like that, you know. Always bein' able to sneak up on me an' others and... Aw hell, son, he just up an' left, no pussy-footin' about it. He up an' left an' left you in my care, at least for this week. After that... no sense in worryin' 'bout that now, is there? Anyway... I'll make us that cuppa tea now. The gods know we both need it, me boy."

Ranax felt oddly empty. He'd already known. _Last night was goodbye... I _felt_ it. I knew it... and I let him go. I could've stayed awake, I could've said something to make him stay... Oh Ysera, he left! He left me and didn't even say goodbye! We talked and talked, but he didn't SAY it! He left me! He left US! He left... us..._ Even though Ran expected he would be all out of tears, he wasn't. They rolled down his cheek and into his porridge, where they left tiny holes filled with salt liquid. _Why did he go? What will I do now? Dad... DAD! Why did you leave me? WHY? You didn't say anything... You just left me, you just left us!_

Even though Grimmox tried not to notice how Ran's tears quickly became a two streams of sorrow on his face, it pained him more and more to see how deeply the young half-elf was hurt by his father. While his hands occupied themselves with the menial task of boiling water, he heard Ranax whispering the same thing over and over again. _Damn you, Sticks! Damn you for leavin' me, for leavin' the boy... Damn you for leavin' me no choice in th' matter. Aw hell... What a mess we're all in._ As soon as the kettle hung above the reborn fire, Grimmox sat next to the crying boy.

"Eh... come on, Ran, it's not... it's not as if... well... That's to say, I don' think... eh... I don' think... It's not like... Hrm..."

It was awkward for him to do it, but the old orc put his left arm around the boy nevertheless. Ranax seemed not to notice and continued his whispering. Curious to know what his new charge was saying, Grimm leaned forward.

"... left us... he didn't say it... he left us... he didn't say it... he left us... he didn't say it... he left us... he didn't... didn't say it..."

Grimmox was at a total loss as to what to say or do. He had never seen anyone shocked into this kind of stupor, even though he had seen some unspeakably horrid things in his fighting days. In spite of himself, tears began to form in his eyes too. Something close to hatred for his old night elf buddy started to blossom in his heart. He felt his hate grow and couldn't, wouldn't care about it. _I'd never 'ave thought you'd be capable o' this, not after your own childhood, Sticks. Not after what you told me had 'appened to your family, your village..._ An old and familiar rage began building inside him, slowly but surely. The same lust for blood that had caused him to leave his home so many years ago, the kind of bloodlust that reminded his people too much of what their cousins had lost.

Suddenly the fire blazed and the small tea kettle starting whistling eerily, like a ghost bird. Whiskers jumped up and hissed, her tail thick and claws unsheathed. The cozy little fire burned and danced like demonic flames and it cast an eerie, almost purple light. In the brown orc's eyes a similar fire started to smolder, then to burn. It was hesitant at first, but soon it raged along with its worldly counterpart. The kettle screamed louder and louder, drowning out all other sounds.

Grimmox' jaw set and his muscles tensed. Something inside him could hear the fire sing, could hear it call, could feel it beckon him... It asked to be molded, to be lead, to BURN... Long-forgotten images hovered in the hot air before him, tugging at his soul, pulling at his mind. Long-buried powers stirred within him, pushing at their boundaries, trying to break free. _Hate... Hate fuels it, rage strengthens it, will commands it... The power... I can wield it, shape it, USE it... It calls... It sings... It burns... No... No, No... NO! It burns! It burns everything! It burns… an' I can't stop it. I can't stop it! I can't... I can't... I have to... have to stop it... But I can't... It's been too long, I just can't. I can't control it, can't stop it... can't... _

Sharp claws dug into his bare right arm. The pain cut through his thoughts and he roared.

"STOP IT!"

The fire died immediately, leaving only a small puff of smoke that soon dissipated into thin air. The kettle stopped its high-pitched scream and Grimmox felt how his salty tears stung his dry cheeks and cracked lips. His clothes smoked and the hair on his arms smelt burned. Whiskers still clung to his right arm. Blood trickled down her paws, staining her fur. On his other side Ranax had slid off the log and stared at him in fear.

"Rowrrr?"

"Yeah, ye can le' go now, silly cat. I'm me again." _For now._

Whiskers let go as gracefully as she could. Then she walked over to Ranax and started head-butting him like crazy, as if to say that all was well again and he could relax. But the silence endured and neither Ran nor Grimmox spoke first. So Grimm turned away to see if there was any water left in the blackened kettle and he started to pour it into two sturdy mugs. He didn't even bother to wipe away the blood on his arm, as orcs – and Mag'har orcs in particular – heal pretty fast compared to other races.

_What happened?_ was the first coherent thought in Ran's mind since his grief had overtaken him. _Dad... Dad left. He left! And he won't come back. Grimmox said so… And I couldn't... I couldn't think about it. I could only think about our conversation and how he left. Not only me, but also my mother and brother. It was like I wasn't there... I couldn't think anymore. I heard Grimmox talking, but I couldn't speak. I didn't even want to! And then... heat... fire... Something burned me!_ He looked at his right sleeve and saw that the red linen had turned black. He could even see tiny blisters forming beneath smoldering holes in the fabric. Even the hair on his head felt burned.

Meanwhile Whiskers was trying to get attention from her new friend. She circled him, whined, pressed her whole body against him, licked his unscathed hand, but to no avail. Finally she had enough of being ignored and she jumped squarely on his stomach.

"Oof! Watch it, Whiskers! Or Whiskey… What's up with that, anyway?"

Just like that the silence was broken. A question was asked. When Ran heard his own voice, it took away his fear and left only his anger and curiosity. Without the fear he started to feel his burns, started to feel the pain seep through his abused nerves up his arm and into his brain. He could hardly move it and when he tried, some of the larger blisters tore open. Fluid started oozing from them, mostly clear but sometimes mixed with blood. He hissed when the pain hit him with full force and instinctively leaned on his uninjured arm. _What in the world happened? How did I get burned like that? And why did he leave me?_

"Oh gods… that HURTS!"

Upon hearing Ran's cry, Grimm turned towards Ran and immediately saw what was wrong. _Damn! Damn me an' damn you, Sticks!_ He put down the tea leaves he was straining and grabbed his bag. Inside was a jumble of stuff: potions, empty bottles, herbs, scrolls, a tattered book, some half-cut gems and bandages. He took out a large piece of netherweave bandage, put some netherbloom on it to help speed up the healing process and kneeled at Ranax' side. When Grimm started to gently pull away the scorched pieces of shirt, Ranax hissed in pain. Blisters were being torn open and more fluid, mingled with blood, trickled down the boy's arm. _Aw hell, that doesn't look good at all. Damn! _Every time another blister popped and Ran let out a soft sound, like a hurt animal. And every time Grimmox heard it, he had to fight back his tears. _I'm responsible for this... It's my fault..._

* * *

While his arm was being cared for by Grimmox, Ran looked away. With his good hand he had grabbed Whiskers' fur and whenever the pain got too bad to bear, his hand stroked the little cat like crazy. Sometimes he even forgot he was holding on to a living animal and he clenched his fist. That hurt, but Whiskers didn't flinch.

The faithful cat knew her new friend needed her, needed the comfort of her soft hair. She didn't fully understand what had happened, but she had felt something strange... Until she had hurt her oldest friend. Whiskers only knew that she had to, her instincts told her to. And that was also why she was so afraid when the young one didn't respond to her. Thankfully, her oldest friend had recovered and was now taking care of her newest friend, the one with the odd smell. So now she waited patiently for everything to return to normal. When she felt another tug at her fur, she started to purr.


	14. Into the past: Hurt, II

Some time after Grimmox had bandaged his arm Ranax had fallen asleep. When he woke up, his arm felt better even though the burns still ached. For one moment, he thought was back home again, until he smelled the sheets; they smelled faintly like flowers. His mom always dried the sheets near the family's wood pile, so they reminded him of dried wood. _I was outside… And something happened. Something burned me. Grimmox bandaged me and I must've fallen asleep. He probably added some herb to the bandage. And now... now what? My arm is feeling better, but my heart, for lack of a better word, isn't... But I'm still here. I came back from a dark, lonely place, I survived, so to speak... But what happened? Where's Grimmox? And where's that crazy cat?_

As he looked around him, he saw that he was lying in a big and comfortable bed that stood in a fairly large room. _How long have I been out?_ The curtains were drawn, but he could see sunlight shining through the seams. _Is it still the same day? Can it be? So much has happened... and yet, so little. Dad left... I hurt inside... and then I hurt outside. There are a lot of secrets being kept here and I want to know. I want to know! I have a right to know if they concern my father!_

Leaning on his good arm he sat up straight. In the darkness of the room he could see a large wooden desk standing at the far side of the room. On either side of the bed stood two big wooden closets and above the desk hung three paintings. His pants and what was left of his shirt were apparently thrown on the chair next to his bed. Suddenly Ran became acutely aware of a few things: his stomach was growling, he was very thirsty and his arm started to hurt again. Slowly but surely he got up and put on his pants. He took one look at his shirt and decided it was not worth the trouble to wear it. _It would only hurt my arm and besides, it's not that cold._

When he opened the door, he saw that there were stairs in the centre of the house. Ran smiled as he thought: It really is a wheel! Before going downstairs, he walked around a bit and counted three rooms and… _A bathroom! Inside the house! I've never seen that before!_ He opened the door and saw not only an indoor shower, but a beautiful bathtub as well. _Oh Ysera, it's great! I've never taken a bath before. Well, as a baby, but that doesn't count. And of course I go swimming in the river, but that doesn't count either! Too bad dad's not here…_ It was strange, but his dad's departure didn't bother him as much as before. _Don't I miss him? Yes, I do… But something's different._ He thought about it for a moment and then dismissed it. _No use in thinking about things I don't understand. Not yet anyway._

He closed the bathroom door and went downstairs. Ranax saw that the stairs didn't end on the ground floor, but went further down. _Probably a basement._ Through the doorway he could see a living room and a kitchen. Only when he stepped into the corridor did he hear the all-too familiar sound of a blacksmith pounding on an anvil. He took a step back and the sound vanished. _I guess it's some kind of spell to make sure that guests can sleep undisturbed…_ This raised a question: did Grimmox have guests often? _Another question, another mystery. This will prove to be an interesting week, if Grimm wants to answer any of my questions, that is. And if he doesn't, well... I always had a knack for finding things I wasn't supposed to!_

"Are y' gonna stand there for much longer, son? Or do I 'ave to pretend that I didn't notice you, hm?"

Ran jumped when he heard Grimm's voice behind him. He turned around... and didn't see anyone. _Huh? I just heard him talking, didn't I?_

"You probably wonderin' where I am, aren't ya? Well son, your father's not the only one who's got some tricks up 'is sleeve, heh heh."

The voice seemed to come out of thin air, but when Ranax looked closely at the stairs, he saw a tiny metal tube protruding from between two stones. Above the tube was a small hole. _How does that work? He sure isn't as strange or crazy as the other kids say. _As he thought about this, he got the same feeling again as when they had arrived here: _This place really IS great!_

"Well, come now, Ran, no need to be standin' around there all day. If ya go to the kitchen and put on some water, I'll join ya in a minute. Give ol' Whiskey... eh... Whiskers some o' the milk that's standin' inside the cupboard with all the runes on it. And don' be alarmed when you feel a slight chill!"

As soon as Ran stepped through the doorway again, he heard the workshop noises again. Not only did he hear the sharp sounds of steel on steel, but also the crackling of a roaring fire and the soft murmur of running water. When he entered the kitchen, the sounds vanished again, although not completely. Curious to see what he could find out about this kind of magic, Ran walked in and out of the kitchen a few times. Every time he crossed the line between hallway and kitchen, strange runes glowed faintly in the wood that framed the doorway. _From what I've learned about runes I can see that these are unlike any we use in our village. What more secrets does this house hold? This can never have been built by Grimmox alone... Could my father have helped in some way? Did others help? And… who were they? Does my father know these people too?_

While mulling over this he put on some water. Whiskers had come bolting in behind him as soon as he grabbed the kettle. Instead of circling around him while miauwing to get his attention and trying to trip him unintentionally – as all cats seem to do – she chose a spot on the kitchen table where she waited for him to get her breakfast. It was not hard for him to find the cupboard Grimm had referred to; there was only one large cupboard that fit the description. Unfamiliar runes were carved into the dark wood in patterns more intricate than he had ever seen in one of the teacher's books. When Ranax reached out to open it, nothing happened. _That's odd. I would've expected those things to start glowing or something._ He waved his hand in front of the door, touched it, walked past it and even blew on it, but the runes remained dark. _Oh well, nothing special about that, then._

Cold. Unexpected cold washed over his face, arms and hands when he finally opened the cupboard.

"What the... By the gods, it's COLD!"

He jumped back against the kitchen table and the door fell shut. Immediately the runes started to glow a dull blue. All Ran could do was stare at the strange piece of kitchen furniture. _What kind of sorcery is this? How can _cold_ be caught in a cupboard_? For the first time since he got to the round house, Ranax felt a slight pang of fright. _If Grimmox can do all this... What _is_ he? And if he's that powerful, wouldn't my dad be at least as powerful? And wouldn't that mean that-_

"Whoa!"

Something furry had head-butted his back quite forcefully. He jumped away from the table, turned around and saw that Whiskers was giving him an angry look. Where's my food? she seemed to say.

"Dammit, you stupid ass of a cat, you scared me AGAIN!"

"An' I'll have none of tha' cursin' in m' house by the likes of you!"

Ran's third jump was spectacular: he pushed over a chair, got his left feet caught behind his right one and took a spectacular dive to the floor. Reflexes as old as life itself made him stretch out both his arms to break his fall.

"NGYIAAAAHHH!"

Excruciating pain flared through his burned arm and Ranax blacked out for a moment. The next thing he knew was someone holding him, supporting his head and pouring a tasteless liquid in his mouth. As soon as he swallowed it, his head cleared and he felt slightly better. Unfortunately it didn't numb his badly injured arm. He could feel warm fluids beneath his bandage. _Oh gods… they've ruptured!_ When he opened his eyes, he saw Grimmox looking at him.

"Ran, ya okay? I'm sorry fer scaring' ye like tha', but when I walked up behind ya and heard those curses, I got mad... I jus' can't stand children usin' curses. I'm old, I'm stuck in me ways, but I'll be damned if I let you stay in m' house and don't say anythin' about yer cursin'! Seems like Sticks wasn't tha' good with raisin' ya as I thought he was, eh?"

Ran felt something soft being shoved under his head and the old orc gently lowered his head on it. All the while, Grimmox kept talking to him.

"I figured ye found out abou' my neat little trick, hm? A cupboard tha' keeps cold inside it! It's just some o' the small things I fiddle around with, tryin' to make my life a bit better. Maybe I'll start sellin' 'em, make a little gold on the side, heh heh. But then again, people always react kinda dumb when it comes to somethin' they don't know or understand. Like me, fer example..."

Grimmox kept talking and talking while his hands did their work on the stained bandage. Almost without thinking he slowly stripped the bandage away and rubbed a numbing salve on Ran's arm when his skin was exposed. Next to him stood a wooden bowl with luke-warm water. Every time he put some of the salve on Ran's arm, he waited a bit and then tenderly washed the drying blood, pus and other fluids away. And at some time during this treatment Ran fell asleep even though he was still hungry, knowing that he was in safe hands.


End file.
